


Under Your Skin

by Clarisse (transnymphtaire)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dark Lord Tom Riddle, Dermatology, Harry didn't go to Hogwarts, M/M, Minister for Magic Tom Riddle, Romantic Comedy, Tomarry Secret Santa 2016
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9098554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transnymphtaire/pseuds/Clarisse
Summary: Harry only wants to live a normal life, working as a dermatologist at his own private practice, meeting up with his friends every now and then, and share the rare gossip with Petunia. Then Tom Riddle walks into his practice, and forcefully drags him to the magical world while talking about killing each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to post this earlier, but my time management has been off. It's kinda why I'm making this multi-chaptered, heh... But I'll of course prioritise getting the rest of the chapters done before I do anything else.
> 
> This is a gift for hannars97! Happy Holidays xx
> 
> Unbetaed.

Most people have odd childhood stories that they tell other people about at every presented opportunity. These people rarely had odd childhoods, and find everything that breaks the pattern of a normal life worth talking about. Harry find himself in an unique situation, as the family he grew up with enforced a pattern of a normal life, and he was the anomaly that broke it.

It does not stop him from having odd, appropriate-to-tell childhood stories of his own.

One of the most remarkable - though it rarely leaves his mouth unless he has consumed countless amounts of alcohol prior to uttering the words - is from his eleventh birthday. The circumstances leading up to that moment are rather remarkable as well, but Harry prefers to not mention those as they are even harder to explain - because how would you go about explaining that a completely normal and respectable man such as Vernon Dursley is fleeing from mere letters, addressed to his wife’s nephew and with a red wax crest sealing them? You simply don’t, and you absolutely don’t ask Vernon himself about the reasons behind it. Besides, when you hear the story there’s so many other things to remark that such details fall into shadow.

When the 30th of July died to make way for the 31st, Harry was drawing candles in the dust on the floor of a hut, which was placed on a rocky island in the middle of the sea. It was not the place where he had expected to celebrate his birthday, but he had not expected his family to give up everything to run from letters either. He has just blown out the candles of his drawn cake when there’s a knock on the door and it falls to the ground. There’s a storm raging outside, but storms can’t knock down doors. Harry scrambles up from the ground into a standing position, and look with fear at the giant of a man that is entering the hut.

“‘Arry!” the giant man says, while thankfully looking at Dudley. Harry doesn’t speak up, but his pig of a cousin runs away to hide behind Vernon and Petunia who has come downstairs. Vernon holds a rifle in his hand, and while Harry hope that it won’t be needed, it does make him feel safer. Especially as the giant has now seen him, and is rambling about strange things such as magic.

“Magic isn’t real.” Harry interrupts, because it’s the one truth of the Dursley household that he has taken to. The giant - who might have introduced himself as Hagrid - proves it wrong by giving new life to the fire in the fireplace, only using a pink umbrella. While Harry has to concede that science can’t explain how an umbrella created fire, he’s not keen on believing until Petunia starts shrieking about her freak of a sister. He feels insulted on behalf on his late mother, and betrayed because the one truth he believed in turned out to be a lie meant to oppress him, but he does not say anything.

When Hagrid gives him one of the letters they have been fleeing from, Harry reads it only out of politeness, before he denies the opportunity to study magic. He might not particularly like his relatives, and they do not particularly like him either, but he will not follow a giant of a stranger who creates fire with an umbrella and supposedly knew his parents. Hagrid is most likely a kind if misguided fella, but Harry very much prefers to not risk getting murdered or worse. He has done without magic so far, and he can continue to do so. Unlike what everyone seems to believe, Harry’s not his parents.

Strangely, after Hagrid morosely has left and they’ve finally returned to Privet Drive, the Dursleys are kinder to him than they were before.

The point though is that Harry left magic behind at the age of eleven, not interested in trying to find his place in a magical world when he’s already battling with finding his place in the normal one, and not interested in following a stranger anywhere no matter how kind they might turn out to be. No, he simply refused to have anything to do with that, and instead went on to become a doctor. It’s a respectable profession, and it’s something that has finally made Petunia express pride over his accomplishments.

That’s why he can’t help but frown at the man who has just walked into his practice, clothes non-magical but outdated - they look to have come from the 40’s - and eyes the colour of candy cane; bright red irises contrasting against the white sclera. Unless he has misread his calendar and it’s Halloween, not the first of December, the only explanation he can come up with is that the man is a wizard. Harry does not deal with wizards.

“Harry Potter,” the man greets him, which is just that side of creepy. “We finally meet.”

“Do you have an appointment?” Harry demands rather than question, and walks over to the computer to check the day’s appointments. His receptionist is on a break, and he had only been out in the reception to get a cup of coffee. While he has had patients arrive early to their appointments before, they mostly just sit down and quietly wait for their name to be called.

“Well, no,” the man answers, appearing a bit caught off guard. “Do you not know who I am?”

“You’re a menace,” Harry answers, looking the stranger dead in the eye. “And I want you out of my practice unless you’re going to make an appointment.”

“Fine. Tomorrow, three o’clock.”

Harry makes a show of slowly getting the computer to work and opening his receptionist’s file of his appointments. As it happens, he does have an opening tomorrow at three o’clock because one of his patients had to cancel.

“Name?” he asks, as he’s writing in the appointment. The man stares for him for a long time. Harry can actually see when the man realise that Harry doesn’t know he is.

“Tom Riddle.”

“Will you pay in the reception or should I write up an invoice?”

“The reception,” Mr Riddle answers, sounding slightly unsure. “Anything else?”

“You’re aware this is a dermatologist practice?”

“Yes.” Mr Riddle answers in the tone of voice that people who has no idea what a dermatologist is usually answer in. Harry smiles politely, though it comes off a shade colder than usual.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr Riddle.”

* * *

The second of December comes far too soon for Harry’s liking, and it brings with it snow. He spends the whole day working himself up to annoyance over the three o’clock appointment, going as far as scaring his receptionist by glaring at her. Then the clock finally showcase three, and Mr Riddle walk through the doors. Harry can hear his receptionist give a sigh of relief as he turns his glare to Mr Riddle.

“You’re late.” Harry greets, and walks towards his examination room without waiting for the other to follow.

“I was exactly on time.” Mr Riddle good-heartedly protests.

“Yes, and it’s common knowledge that you should always be fifteen minutes early to all appointments,” Harry answers, his annoyance at Mr Riddle’s presence shining through. “Now, why are you here today?”

“I have a mole,” Mr Riddle answer, and Harry wants to roll his eyes. He has a lot of customer who come to get moles checked, and while it’s always good to know, it just makes this appointment an even bigger waste of his time than it already was.

“And you want it checked,” he interrupts before Mr Riddle can say the dreaded words. “I’ll just do a full-body skin exam then. Please undress, completely, and then put on the robe that I’ll put on the examination bed for you.”

Harry doesn’t wait for Mr Riddle to respond before he goes collect one of the clean hospital gowns that they keep around. When he comes back to put it on the bed, Mr Riddle is already down to his socks and underwear. Usually Harry is very respecting towards his patients and give them a sense of privacy when they undress or dress, but Mr Riddle is a wizard wasting his time, and Harry’s goal is to make the man uncomfortable, so he looks. And keep looking. His eyes have practically glues themself onto the impressive physique of Mr Riddle’s chest. It’s first when he notices Mr Riddle patiently watching him in return that Harry clears his throat and looks away.

“What next?” Mr Riddle asks after he has undressed completely and put on the robe.

“Do you or any close family members have a history of skin cancer?” Harry asks, as he goes to collect his dermatoscope to keep it close during the examination. He waits patiently as Mr Riddle seem to try to remember what cancer is. Seeing as the man is a wizard, Harry isn’t really surprised.

“Not that I’m aware,” Mr Riddle finally answers. “I’m the only one left alive of my close family, and no records have been left behind.”

“Okay,” Harry nods. He’s not going to question it, as he does not know if Mr Riddle is raised a wizard or not, and he has decided to not ask anything about the magical world. For all he knows, some kind of Dark Lord can have gone on a rampant recently. “Have you ever used a tanning bed?”

“Only once or twice in my youth.”

Harry pauses a moment to consider what age Mr Riddle could be. They look to be roughly the same - in their mid-thirties. He could be wrong of course, but it at least means that tanning beds should not be a source of skin cancer in Mr Riddle’s case.

“Do you regularly use sunscreen or other sun protection?”

“Magic.” Mr Riddle answer, finally taking the step that bursts Harry’s bubble that perhaps this could be a normal visit.

“There’s no research available on what magic use has for relation to cancer,” Harry finds himself mumbling, even though he has never as much as stepped into the magical part of England. “I assume you take no non-magical medications?”

“Magical medication works faster and is more effective.”

“And is there a magical cure for cancer?”

“...no.”

“Then you’re not wasting my time, good.”

“I thought you were supposed to examine my skin.”

Harry has to resist the urge to whack Mr Riddle over the head, and instead takes his arm a bit more roughly than needed. He can be professional and annoyed at the same time. Well, he can be something closely resembling professional at least.

It takes him 20 minutes to examine every single part of the patient, which includes looking over the scalp and genitalia. Harry only has to use the dermatoscope a few times, and takes great pleasure in the facial expression Mr Riddle makes at having the special magnifying glass aimed at his penis. Overall, Mr Riddle’s skin is practically flawless when it comes to pimples or scars, but there’s a mark placed at his left lumber, a mole behind his right ear and another mark at the inside of his left ankle that Harry wants to do a biopsy off.

“I need to do a biopsy. Do you need me to explain the procedure?” Harry questions as he goes to put the dermatoscope away.

“If you would be so kind.” Mr Riddle replies.

“It’s an easy procedure, and it doesn’t take much time. I will clean the biopsy sites - it’s most common to only do one, but as you’re magical I will do three biopsies as there were three different places I want a closer look at - and outline the areas with a surgical marker. After that I’ll apply local anesthetic on the biopsy sites by injecting it with a thin needle. The numbing medication might burn for a few seconds before it numbs. When the biopsy site is numb, I’ll be able to collect tissue samples. There’s three different ways to collect tissue, and I’ll use two of them. They’re usually referred to as a shave biopsy and an excisional biopsy. Each biopsy takes roughly fifteen minutes. Healing the wounds afterwards usually take up to two months and usually leave behind a small scar, but I expect that you will skip over this procedure with magic.”

“And you’ll only use the tissue for testing?” Mr Riddle demands to know, eyes suddenly narrowed in suspicion. Harry blinks - was there some magical use for skin tissue? Strange.

“What else could I possibly want to do with it, Mr Riddle?” he asks, with a tone of voice that makes it obvious that he finds the other irritating.

“Use it in polyjuice potion to impersonate me and make changes to my reign of the british wizard community.” Mr Riddle readily shot back, voice dripping of suspicion.

“Should I recommend you a psychiatrist?” Harry can’t help but question the man’s sanity, as none of those words made much sense to him when put into context. What even is polyjuice? It does not sound appetising, especially not with potion added to the name. Mr Riddle still looks at him with suspicion, but the candy cane eyes were no longer narrowed.

“That will not be needed. I want to get rid of the skin tissue myself after your research is done though.”

Harry just shakes his head at the request and gets to work. Mr Riddle was really a nuisance to deal with.

* * *

The third of December comes as a blessing, since it’s a Saturday and he has the day free. There’s a window between 9 am and noon for any special arrangements, but he has nothing scheduled this week and can instead sleep in. Harry takes the opportunity to spend his day in bed, as he has plans that evening with two of his friends from sixth form. He hasn’t seen them in a while, and will definitely need the energy after dealing with Mr Riddle yesterday. It was probably the slowest biopsy during his whole career.

A sudden knock on the window startles Harry enough for him to put on his glasses and sit up. His immediate reaction after looking towards the window is to remove his glasses again and clean them hastily with his duvet cover to make sure that they’re clean. When he puts them on again and the owl is still sitting on the windowsill, waiting to be let inside, Harry can’t help but groan out of annoyance. It’s extremely reluctantly that he leaves the warmth of his bed - the only one that could possibly contact him through owl is Mr Riddle and Harry does not have patience for Mr Riddle.

The floor is cold underneath his feet, but the route to his chest of drawers to get socks is longer than the distance to the window so he suffers through it. It doesn’t even take a minute to reach the window, but Harry is ready to dive back into bed. Instead he has to open the window to let cold air inside together with the owl which flies inside to drop a letter on his bed before it leaves again. Harry scowls as he closes the window and returns back to bed. He considers to simply burn the letter, but there’s a small chance that it’s important and an even smaller chance that it’s from somebody else, so he decides to open it.

Looking at the empty sheet of parchment, he can’t help but think that it was a mistake. Then there’s a feeling like a hook beneath his navel pulling at him and Harry can only look on as his apartment disappears around him - or rather, as he’s forcibly taken from his apartment. By an empty sheet of parchment.

When his feet are finally at the ground again, Harry is feeling quite sick and extremely angry. He takes a deep breath of air to not throw up, and then rip the damned parchment to pieces. It’s first after the pieces has fallen to the floor that Harry deem it a good time to look around to see where he is, and to remember that he’s only wearing pants. Maybe he should have put on some socks after all.

Harry finds himself looking straight at Mr Riddle, and in response angrily put his hands at his waist much like an upset cartoon character would. At least until he notices that Mr Riddle’s glance has been drawn to his chest, which prompts him to instead cross his arms protectively over it. Mr Riddle’s glance lingers at his abdomen for a moment before finally meeting his eyes.

“Magic me up a pair of clothes,” Harry snaps. “And then get me home, you fucking kidnapper!”

“It’s noon,” Mr Riddle answers, as he waves his wand. “I fully expected you to be up and dressed.”

Harry doesn’t deem that worthy of an answer, and instead inspect the wizarding fashion that he finds himself dressed in. It looks like some kind of open robe, with a waistcoat in the same shade as his eyes, a very lacey white button-up shirt and a pair of tight black trousers that he suspects are not leather, but something resembling it. Harry looks up to see Mr Riddle with red spots decorating his otherwise pale cheeks. He raises an eyebrow in response before looking around the room once more - he had been distracted by Mr Riddle the first time.

At his second attempt to get his bearings, Harry finally notices the old man standing behind a counter, and the shelves with long, thin rectangular boxes behind him.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Where am I, and why?”

“Welcome to Ollivanders, Mr Potter,” the old man answers. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Expected you to come in at eleven to get your wand, as your parents did before you, but alas.”

“I’m very sorry for taking up your time, sir, but I’m in no need of a wand,” Harry starts to apologise, glaring at Riddle through the corner of his eye meanwhile. The man is no longer worthy of the title of Mr.

“You do,” Riddle interrupts. “I will not have you try to kill me using Muggle means, that’s barbarian.”

“Kill you?” Harry repeats, pussled. “Why would I ever want to do that? I’m a doctor!”

“A dermatologist.” Riddle corrects.

“I still save lives! Have you any idea about the dangers of cancer?” Harry shoots back, annoyed. It reminds him too much about the arguments he had with Vernon, back when Vernon still gave two cents about what he did.

“What is your dominant hand?” the old man, who Harry suspects to be Ollivander, interrupts.

“The right.” Harry answer, and finally notice the measuring tape hovering around him as it measures the space between his eyes. He gives it a narrowed glance, but ignores it as it looks innocent enough. What he can’t ignore is the wand that Ollivander offers him. Harry takes it with a defeated sigh and gives it a little wave. Something explodes and Ollivander snatches it from his hand.

“Give him the brother to my own.” Riddle demands before Ollivander can go searching between his shelves. The old man tilts his head to the side consideringly, glances back at Harry, and then goes deep into his shop. Harry and Riddle waits in silence until Ollivander finally comes back, minutes later.

“Here, try this one…,” Ollivander says, a strange sort of wonder in his voice as he carefully unwraps a wand from a box. To Harry’s eyes, it looks like any other wand, but he still takes it carefully. “11 inches, holly, phoenix feather core.”

Harry doesn’t have time to do much more than give the wand a wave before the little shop gets filled to the brim with a bright light. Harry catches himself smiling in wonder at the sense of rightness that settles in his bones.

“How much?” Riddle asks in the background. Harry barely listens to the transaction of seven galleons, so mesmerized is he by the stick of holly in his hand. At least until it catches up to him that Riddle just bought it for him.

“Oh, no no no!” Harry protests. “I’m very happy with my life as it is, without magic!”

He is ignored. Instead, Riddle takes his arm and there’s the sound of a car backfiring coupled with the feeling of being forced through a very tight rubber tube. This time Harry falls to his knees when he can finally feel the ground again, and goes so far as to kiss the wet grass. He is tired of being kidnapped through magical means of traveling.

“I’ll teach you to apparate,” Riddle promises. “It’s much better when you do it yourself.”

“Should you really teach the one that you thinks will kill you?” Harry can’t help but bite as he stands up and starts brushing the dirt off his clothes.

“It was long since I duelled an equal.” is the only response he gets.

* * *

The rest of the day is not spent apparating, as Riddle had called it, but going through standard spells inside an expensively decorated room inside what can only be called a mansion. Harry would much have preferred to be taught how to apparate so that he could get home, but instead he finds himself learning Lumos, Spongify, Diffindo, Incendio, Alohomora, Wingardium Leviosa, Colloportus, Reparo, and other strange words with Latin roots that forces his wand to make use of his magic.

It would even be tolerable, if not for Riddle standing with his chest against Harry’s back, hand over Harry’s hand, to help with the wand-movement for each spell. After countless of hours - the sun has already started its way down behind the horizon, but that doesn’t say much during winter - Harry has finally had enough. He grips his wand tightly, and instead of practicing Tergeo one more time, he focuses all his energy on Riddle and Petrificus Totalus.

He does not expect it to work, as his wand is not aiming at Riddle at all and he hasn’t spoken the words, but to Harry’s great surprise he can feel Riddle’s body stiffen behind him. He steps away and then turn around to see Riddle’s impressed yet betrayed expression - the man must be fighting against the curse. Harry grips his wand tightly once more, and hope that his magic can help him with a second fluke, and take him to the bar where he’s meeting his friends.

* * *

Ending up in a tree in the park a five minute walk away from the bar is honestly much better than Harry expected. He kisses his wand and puts it away into an inner pocket before gracefully jumping down from the tree. His clothes are slightly damp and he has leaves in his hair, but he doesn’t care. He definitely deserves a beer after the strange day that he has had.

“Over here!” Jo calls excitedly as Harry enters the bar. He’s extremely thankful to see a beer waiting for him as he wanders over.

“Jo, Morgan,” he greets his friends with kisses to their cheeks. “You’re not gonna believe the day I had.”

“I didn’t know there was a victorian fair in town.” Morgan jokes, looking pointedly at his clothes. Harry scratches the back of his head in a show of embarrassment as he sits down, completing their triangle.

“It’s a long story. Do you two have anything to share first?”

“We’re dating.” Jo answers, and looks over at Morgan with a fond smile.

“If you used facebook, you would have known.” Morgan adds, and lean over to give her girlfriend a brief kiss on the lips.

“How long? How? When?” Harry asks, excited for his friends - and admittedly interested in gossiping. It’s one thing he managed to get from Petunia, though to a much lesser agree as the only gossip he cares about is what happens in his friends’ life.

“We’re going on five months,” Jo answers, being the one more talkative of the two. “Morgan was actually the one to ask me out! We were walking in the Pride parade, and there was a camera aimed at us so we kissed. It was a really nice picture, I’ll show you,” she pauses to get out her cellphone, and opens it to show her lockscreen which is indeed of her and Morgan walking in the Pride parade. Harry takes it for a moment to look closer at Jo’s rainbow lips and LESBIAN written over her cheeks, and the nonbinary pride shirt that Morgan is wearing. It’s a good picture, and his friends looks really happy. He’s sad that he missed out on Pride this year - his bisexual flag has had some good days around his shoulders during pride parades. “Nice, right? So we just stopped for a moment and continued kissing, and then Morgan all of a sudden said that she wished to kiss me forever, and it was so romantic! We went out on a date a few days later, and we’ve known each other forever, so it just clicked.”

“I’m really happy for you two.” Harry answers sincerely and gives the phone back. He makes a mental note to go onto facebook again to check up on his friends’ lives.

“So, what’s the story?” Morgan asks, and gestures towards Harry’s outfit. He downs half his glass of beer before he delves into the story of his kidnapping - censored from magic of course.

* * *

The fourth of December arrives with a hangover. It was great fun to catch up with Jo and Morgan, but he definitely had a glass or two too many. Worse is that he has a vague memory of letting Jo try his wand, and casting a wandless Lumos to have her think that she did it. Harry isn’t even sure if wandless magic is possible, but it must be as he did quite some feats as a child. He only hopes that he won’t be in trouble for it.

* * *

“What were you thinking?” Riddle demands the next day when Harry enters his practice at 8 am.

“He’s been here since before I arrived.” the scared receptionist pipes up from where she’s sitting.

“And have you offered him coffee?” Harry asks, too tired to deal with Riddle before he has had a cup of coffee of his own.

“He threw it against the wall.”

The glare that Harry gives Riddle at that could possibly have killed someone.

“I have all the right to call the police, sir.” Harry warns, and goes to fix himself a cup of coffee. He has never been this thankful for the coffee machine they keep in the reception, as he will need it.

It’s with a cup of coffee in hand that Harry walks into his examination room, Riddle close on his heels. He hears the door close behind them, and the sounds of a spell of some sort. Then Riddle is forcibly turning him around. Harry swallows down the coffee he was drinking, and puts away the mug on the closest surface.

“What were you thinking?” Riddle repeats, gripping Harry’s arm tightly and almost hissing the words out.

“You have to be more specific.” Harry answers, as he remembers using the full body-bind curse on the man during his kidnapping.

“Using magic! In front of Muggles! Do you have any idea how much paperwork I had to do for your sake?”

“She thought it was a toy, and it was only Lumos.” Harry shrugs it away, and reaches for his coffee again.

“Oh, I could just kill you!”

“Why don’t you?” Harry asks, actually curiously. Riddle has the weird idea that Harry should want to kill him, yet he has started teaching Harry magic and even purchased a wand, which if Harry remembers correctly should be the brother to his own. It really sounds like a lot of job that you wouldn’t bother with when you think that someone should kill you. Maybe he really ought to recommend a psychiatrist…

“Your not equal yet.” Riddle answers, as if that is in any way a valid explanation. Harry feels as if he’s missing something, but a look at the clock tells him that he has a patient coming in soon, so he doesn’t have time for a discussion.

“Don’t ever kidnap me again:” is all he says, and kicks Riddle out of his examination room.

* * *

To his surprise, the sixth of December goes by without any contact at all from Riddle. Well, almost. Harry has to take a look at Riddle’s tissue samples, but at least that can’t talk. Small mercies and all that.

Not that he would call the owl waiting for him when he gets home a small mercy. It’s a beautiful white snow owl, with a gift bow. There’s no letter, so Harry can only assume that she’s meant as a gift for him. He sighs and makes a note to find a pet shop that sell things for owls. He might have to find the magical part of London for it though… isn’t there supposed to be some place called Diagon Alley? It must have been there that Ollivanders where after all....

Harry decides to think more about it later, and fries up some bacon for the owl as dinner. He has to give her a name, but food is a priority.

* * *

Hedwig, as he ends up naming the owl, wakes him the next morning. Harry pats her without thinking, and is extremely happy when she doesn’t try to bite his fingers. Instead she drags at a test of his hair until he sits up in bed and put on his glasses. The rest of his morning routine goes more or less the same way, with Hedwig trying her best to be helpful.

“Don’t ask.” is the only thing Harry can tell his receptionist when he walks into his practice, Hedwig sitting on his shoulder. Her talons hurt, but her beak hurt more when he tried to get her to stay at home, so in the end he just gave up and let her come with.

Riddle is waiting inside his examination room this time, and Harry is not sure if he should ask his receptionist if she let her him or not. He decides against doing so, assuming that Riddle used magic to get inside. Maybe he should see about updating the alarms on the building…

“I see you liked your gift.” Riddle greets. Harry doesn’t answer, simply waits until Hedwig has moved from his shoulder so that he can go back out to the reception and get some coffee. When he returns to his examination room it’s to Riddle sitting down on the examination bed with Hedwig on his lap, petting her. Harry can’t help but feel slightly betrayed by the owl, even though he should have expected it as she was a gift from Riddle.

“Have you looked at the tissue samples yet?”

“We need a new appointment to go through the results,” Harry starts, trying to remember if there was much to talk about. His memory doesn’t work well before he has a full cup of coffee in his system.

“Tomorrow.” Riddle interrupts before Harry can suggest a date.

“My day is full tomorrow you’ll have to come after hours in that case.”

“See you then.” Riddle says, and apparates away before Harry can protest. Hedwig makes and indignant noise at being disturbed. Harry sighs and downs the rest of his coffee.

He really hopes that tomorrow will be the last time that he has to see Riddle.

**Author's Note:**

> I research everything but the weather, haha.
> 
> I'll obviously finish this even without comments, but they do help ;)


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